


won't you let me in

by SherlockedWitch



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental wetting, Crying, Desperation, Embarrassment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedWitch/pseuds/SherlockedWitch
Summary: He’s focusing so much on just making it down the hall and to the bathroom before it’s too late, that he doesn’t initially realize that he’s about to have a big problem. As Freddie gets closer, however, he inevitably notices.Someone else is already in the bathroom.





	won't you let me in

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently my life now revolves around writing Freddie omorashi fics. So...here's another one of those. Enjoy!

It’s been years since Freddie has wet the bed on a regular basis. What was once a nightly occurrence as a child is now but an occasional accident here or there. He goes months, even over a year sometimes, without wetting the bed now. Somewhere nearing his twenties, his bladder had finally figured out how to wake his brain up at night instead of emptying on its own accord. This is good, except for when said bladder waits until the last possible moment to jolt him awake. It’s better that than soaked sheets, of course, but it does occasionally result in close calls or damp pajamas.

On this particular night, Freddie wakes up incredibly desperate. As he opens his eyes, he can feel his achingly full bladder screaming at him. He scrambles to get up, untangling himself from the blankets, almost instantly wide awake. Experience tells him that he needs to get to the bathroom very, very quickly.

Freddie slides out of bed, a hand going to his crotch as he squirms a bit. He stumbles through the dark until he gets to his bedroom door, opening it and hurrying out into the hall. Every step he takes sends an urgent jolt through his bladder, and he winces. He’s focusing so much on just making it down the hall and to the bathroom before it’s too late, that he doesn’t initially realize that he’s about to have a big problem. As Freddie gets closer, however, he inevitably notices.

Someone else is already in the bathroom.

 _Fuck_. This isn’t good. Freddie stops a couple feet from the door, biting his lip. Still holding his crotch, he crosses his legs, bouncing a bit.

He should knock. He should, but he doesn’t. He’s a bit too embarrassed to do that. It’ll probably only be a couple of minutes, anyway, right? He can wait...hopefully.

He doesn’t really have any options. It’s not exactly a large flat, so this is the only bathroom. While he’s desperate enough to consider unorthodox solutions such as making a dash for the kitchen sink, Freddie knows he’s a bit too far gone for that. As panic-inducing of a thought as it is, he would never make it that far. He’s hardly even sure he can walk the few feet to the toilet once whoever’s in the bathroom opens the door.

Freddie feels increasingly anxious as he seriously wonders whether or not he can hold it. He’s a relatively tiny person, and that’s always been unfortunately coupled with a relatively tiny bladder. Freddie uncrosses his legs briefly, pressing his thighs together and squirming in place. Despite holding himself, he can already feel a couple spurts of urine leaking out, dampening his underwear.

His entire lower abdomen actually hurts, and Freddie’s shaking a bit from the sheer effort of holding it in. Every muscle is clenched as he does his best to hold on. He can’t have an accident. He just can’t. Slightly bent at the waist now, he paces a bit, urgency coursing through him. He has to go _so_ bad.

A few seconds later, Freddie hears the sink turn on. The sound of the water increases his desperation tenfold, and he has to bite back a whimper. He squirms incessantly, feeling more and more distressed at his current situation. Leaning against the wall, he crosses his legs again. A new wave of urgency washes over him, his bladder contracting, and Freddie feels more urine manage to leak out. He’s just barely able to stop an entire stream from starting.

Come _on_ , he thinks. He can’t tune out the sound of the rushing water from the sink, though it’s not for lack of trying. Freddie chews on his bottom lip, bouncing minutely on the balls of his feet. Another spurt escapes him, and he can feel the wetness on his hand now. His heart races. He has to go _now,_ and he’s not sure his body is going to wait another minute.

Just as Freddie is reconsidering knocking on the door, though, that option effectively gets taken away. His bladder refuses to cooperate with him any further. It’s really just too late, and Freddie feels tears gather in his eyes as his bladder suddenly releases. He’s got a tight grip on his crotch, but it’s not enough to stop the flood of urine that’s rapidly soaking his underwear and beginning to run down his pajama bottoms. He only moves his hand after a few seconds of trying in vain to stop the flow.

He feels helpless as he looks down at himself in the dim lighting, watching in horror as he completely loses control. Hot urine runs down his legs, soaking his pajamas and beginning to puddle on the floor beneath him. Freddie’s bladder is relaxed, but the rest of him is anything but that. He’s completely wetting himself in the hallway like a child, and he’s terrified.

A few seconds later, as the stream of urine pouring out of him finally begins to slow down, he hears the sink turn off in the bathroom. A few tears now begin to run down Freddie’s cheeks. Whoever is in there is going to see him, and that thought absolutely panics him. He finally stops wetting, but his pants are thoroughly soaked, and he’s standing in a rather incriminating puddle. Before he can even contemplate what to do, Freddie looks up in trepidation as the bathroom door opens.

When Roger opens the door, he’s momentarily startled. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, after all. Freddie is standing in front of him, though, and it only takes him a few seconds to realize something's not quite right. He looks oddly scared—and is he _crying?_

“Freddie? Are you—” Roger stops in the middle of his questioning as his eyes trail down the other man’s body. The light from the bathroom is still on, and it’s now illuminating the hallway, so Roger can very clearly see the puddle on the floor and the wetness on Freddie’s pajamas. His eyes widen.

To say Freddie is mortified would be an understatement. Roger looks shocked, and rightfully so, and Freddie feels his face heat up as more tears leak out. “I—god, I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear…” he stutters quietly, anxiously, having to trail off to keep from outright sobbing.

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s okay,” Roger reassures after a second. Seeing how upset Freddie is, he tries to shake off his shock and confusion. “I didn’t know you were out here...did you knock?”

Freddie sniffles, trying his hardest to stop crying. It’s definitely not helping matters. “No, I...I didn’t, I thought I could just wait,” he confesses, voice quiet and tearful.

Roger frowns. “Oh, well...don’t be afraid to knock or anything next time, alright? I would have hurried up if I’d known you needed in.”

“Okay. I—I’m really sorry, Rog,” Freddie nervously apologizes again, glancing down at the floor to avoid eye contact. He feels like an idiot. A disgusting, childish idiot.

Looking at Freddie’s dejected form, Roger feels a pang of sympathy. He’s a bit worried, too. The poor guy is clearly beating himself up over this. He knows he can’t erase the embarrassment that’s practically radiating from his friend, but he can at least try and reassure him that he’s not judging him or anything.

“It’s alright. Accidents happen, yeah?” Roger says, keeping his tone soft. “Do you wanna take a shower?”

Freddie not so subtly wipes at his face before glancing back up at Roger, nodding silently. He’s still embarrassed, but he’s thankful that Roger is being so nice. The other man could have very easily laughed at him instead of being comforting.

“Okay, uh—“ Roger realizes he’s standing in the doorway, and steps to the side, though he’s careful not to step in the puddle surrounding Freddie. “You want me to bring you some clothes?”

“You don’t have to,” Freddie mumbles, but Roger cuts him off.

“Nonsense, I don’t mind,” Roger gives him a small, reassuring smile. The tears shining in Freddie’s eyes are a little heartbreaking, honestly. He hates to see him upset like this.

“Thank you,” Freddie murmurs quietly, only now venturing to take a few hesitant steps towards the bathroom. He grimaces to himself. Walking in wet pants is highly uncomfortable.

“Not a problem. I’ll be right back,” Roger promises, heading down the hall towards Freddie’s room.

Freddie goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, although he doesn’t begin to undress just yet. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Roger is being absolutely wonderful about this. He knows that he really shouldn’t have expected any less of him, but his brain loves to convince him that the worst case scenario is always going to happen. Having an accident and someone else seeing it is, in fact, a worst case scenario, but Roger’s lack of teasing or disgust is the only silver lining.

It’s only a couple of minutes later when Freddie hears a quiet knock on the door. He opens it and peaks out, making sure it is actually Roger before he opens the door a bit wider.

“Here,” Roger murmurs kindly, holding out the bundle of clean clothing for Freddie to take.

“Thanks,” Freddie all but whispers, taking the clothes. Roger steps back a bit, and Freddie closes the door again.

After starting the shower, Freddie undresses. He’s still sniffling a bit, but he’s managed to stop crying for the most part. He’s naturally still upset, though. That will take much longer to fade.

Freddie steps into the shower and begins to clean up, absently hoping that no one else has been woken up by all the commotion. He’s fairly certain Roger won’t set out to gossip about this incident for no reason; but if, say, Brian were to wake up and spot the puddle in the hallway before Freddie can get it cleaned up, then he’s definitely going to be asking questions. Freddie would understandably prefer for no one else to find out about this, so he prays they’ve been quiet enough to not have woken anyone.

Back in the hallway, Roger briefly contemplates just heading to bed. He’s not sure if Freddie will want to talk when he come out. He probably won’t. Nevertheless, Roger will feel guilty if he doesn’t at least stick around to check on him to make sure he’s really going to be okay. Besides, if he doesn’t make it blatantly clear to Freddie that this isn’t a big deal, and that he won’t tell anyone, then Freddie’s bound to be quite awkward and tense around him for awhile. Which, he probably still will be to a certain degree no matter what, but if it’s _too_ noticeable then Brian and/or John will definitely pick up on it. That wouldn’t be ideal, so Roger hopes he can reassure Freddie enough to avoid all that.

Feeling the need to be helpful, Roger also decides to clean up the floor while Freddie’s showering. He doesn’t mind, really, as long as he doesn’t think too hard about what it is he’s cleaning up. Mind you, it’s not as if he jumps for joy at the idea of cleaning _any_ substance.

It’s about fifteen minutes later when a freshly-showered Freddie gets dressed in clean pajamas before glancing at the door. He’s unsure if Roger is still awake or not, but if he is, it’s not as if he can hide from him forever. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, still feeling anxious and insecure. Gingerly holding the bundle of soiled clothing from earlier, Freddie cautiously opens the bathroom door.

He doesn’t see Roger, and that’s not the only thing missing. He’s quick to notice the newly mopped floor, which has erased all traces of his accident. Freddie feels his face heat up. Roger cleaning a puddle of urine up for him is not something he could have ever predicted happening.

Trying to suppress the new wave of embarrassment washing over him, Freddie quietly makes his way down the hall to go throw his clothes in the washer. Which is, incidentally, where he runs into Roger.

Roger turns as Freddie enters the room. He’d been putting the towels he’d used while cleaning up the hall into the wash.

“Hey,” Roger greets, purposely pushing a sense of normalcy into his voice, “Feeling better? You can throw your clothes in with the towels.”

“Okay,” Freddie mumbles, awkwardly stepping forward and adding his clothes to the washer. He steps back as Roger takes over, adding detergent before closing the lid and starting the cycle.

Once he’s done with that, Roger turns back towards Freddie, assessing him. He looks embarrassed still, but that was to be expected. At least he’s not crying anymore.

Freddie sighs quietly, running a hand over his face. “Thank you—again,” he says softly, only just barely making eye contact, “You, um, didn’t have to clean up for me…”

“It’s alright, I didn’t mind doing it,” Roger responds.

“Still, I’m...sorry,” Freddie cringes, still feeling horribly mortified and awkward.

“You don’t have to apologize, Freddie. It’s called an accident for a reason,” Roger reminds him gently. “Happens to everyone at some point, yeah? I won’t tell anyone. And I’m not judging you, so don’t worry about this anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” Freddie murmurs before going quiet for a moment. “You’re...a really great friend, Roger,” he states suddenly. He doesn’t quite mean to say it aloud; it just sort of slips out instead of another ‘thank you.’

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Roger grins cheekily.

This elicits a smile and a brief chuckle from Freddie, which Roger takes as a good sign.

“I’m gonna head to bed now, I think,” Rogers says after a moment. “I’m knackered. You going back to bed, too?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Freddie answers.

“Okay. Goodnight then, Freddie,” Roger says, briefly clapping a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder as he moves to walk past him.

“Goodnight, Rog,” Freddie responds softly.

Freddie waits until Roger disappears down the hall before he follows, although he obviously heads for his own bedroom, not Roger’s. He was tired before, but after such an emotionally taxing incident, he’s definitely exhausted. He goes to his room and climbs back into bed, sighing.

Despite the exhaustion, it takes him a little while to fall back asleep. Freddie’s still cursing himself for having an accident, but he is grateful that the outcome wasn’t worse. Roger’s kindness was the only thing that kept him from having a complete, mortified breakdown. He knows he can never erase the memory of this, but he does hope that it fades into the background so to speak, never to be brought up again.

Holding onto this hope, Freddie gradually drifts back to sleep.  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos/comments give me motivation and are always appreciated. :)


End file.
